


Eros

by Benquel



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Drug Use, Dubious Consent, M/M, Sex Pollen, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-14 00:48:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14124525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Benquel/pseuds/Benquel
Summary: In Queens people are going missing, and Spiderman uncovers a new alien drug.Peter is a teenager with a wealth of teenage problems, lost in a world of violence and crime, and is only trying to make things right by doing what he knows. Tony is a man, only a man with sad man problems.Together these two try to work together to put an end to the criminals.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> totally inspired by [pansley's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pansley/pseuds/pansley) fic [asunder](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11719746/chapters/26398644)
> 
> literally the only reason why i wanted to write this in the first place, check it out! (this is kind of a gift to her as well) enjoy!
> 
> also #peterchargeyourdamnphone

The bell rang through the gymnasium, followed soon after with a harmony of sighs by the students. Peter was sitting comfortably on the audience bench, MJ and Ned on either side of him on the lower bench.

Ned’s face was red and shiny with post-workout sweat and pre-adult grease; Peter did not miss that significant factor of his past self. He stretched catlike as they gossiped the last few minutes away before locker-room time, school was over and there was no rush to be anywhere for Peter, at least not until tonight when he would patrol.

“—she texted Jessica Thompson last weekend and Drew Gerrymor swears that she has a boyfriend from a school upstate who I think was—”

“Hum?” Peter starts, absentmindedly. He turns to Ned, who continues:

“Remember Stacy Lui? We’re theorizing that she ran away with her boyfriend. Or a sugar-daddy. Flash said he’s seen him before picking her up – didn’t want anyone to see, too. Someone heard from Jessica that he’s a huge druggie douche-bag–”

“Haven’t there been like, loads of people going missing recently? Mostly pretty people.” MJ interjected without lifting her attention, sketching a unicorn onto the back of her gym’s guide textbook. “So watch out, Parker.” Peter grins and nudges her on the shoulder in response, forcing her hand to mar a pencil line over the unicorn’s face.

 

* * *

 

 

The night air has ever only been the thing to truly quell Peter’s senses. He flips, the gut rolling feeling that once upset him excited him in a truly indescribable way, hurling from corner of building to corner by the strength of his body and webs. His unique hyper ability of perception has taken him months to grasp, and he can’t help but find it grimly funny that it was by leaping bodily off buildings that has kept him from his foreseeable anxious breakdowns.

Without his suit, the cold would have possibly cut windburns into his skin at the speed he went. He swung faster, horizontally positioning his body to scarcely avoid the cement as he went down and then back up again into the air. With each moment as his hand abandoned the web, he let his mind open, discarding every thought to fall into the abyss below, to be run over by the speeding cars and the soldiering steps of city life dwellers.

Soundlessly, Peter released his hold on a web left behind on a lamppost, landing onto the back of a truck on its way out of the city. He let himself lie back to imagine the feeling of the wind on his suit, the feeling of anything on his suit. He let his imagination wander to how Mr. Stark had so carefully manufactured the fabric to protect every inch of his skin. What was Mr. Stark doing tonight, he also wondered, would he approve of him being out this late? He could try Happy again for his number, but he didn’t want to strip away any more contact than what was already so scarce –

The hairs on the back of his neck immediately stood on end, like a gush of cold water into his face it stopped him breathing momentarily and he shot up in surprise. His spider-senses prickled painfully and he rubbed it down as he looked around.

His suit’s eyes adjusted the lighting to reveal a quiet industrial district; the salty smell of the ocean gave him a clue of how far he had travelled. In an instant he pulled out his phone from his backpack, typed Aunt May a courtesy message before he forgot to like he had many times before:

 

He stared at the glowing image for a second longer, suddenly saddened by how naturally lying came to him. Aunt May didn’t deserve the grief he gave her on nights too many to count, coming home with a burst lip or plumped bruised face. It was to the relief of both of them that they disappeared so quickly, he would have sworn there were times where he heard Aunt May sob quietly to herself after pointlessly icing a golf-ball sized swell on his brow.

He wished he could tell her.

The phone light went out in a click and he stored it away before webbing off the back of the truck onto the very top of a lamppost. His senses flared as he followed its pull, propelling himself into the night before landing gracefully onto the roof of a wooden boat shack, crawling with his belly tight to the surface to watch what he saw in the distance.

“Karen, where are we?”

“23rd Avenue boat harbor on Flushing Bay.”

There was a deep blue van parked underneath a street light, the surrounding area glowed a deep, sickly yellow color. Peter could make out the black shapes of five men, their upper bodies bulky and misshaped from their thick coats evading the cold harbor wind. His spider-lenses narrowed, focusing the image to magnify the scene: they were surrounded around a silver pelican suitcase; two men were plainly keeping away watching for encroachers.

“Enhanced reconnaissance mode, please, Karen.” He said.

“Activated, Peter.”

The sound came to him suddenly, their voices deep but clear as if he were there with them. The monitor on his lenses presented the longitudinal sound waves by each of their heads.

“So how much for a sample of the basic product?” a man in a black fleece and red beanie asked.

“50 grand.” A whistle in response from Beanie.

“We’ve already shown you twice what it can be made to do, if you have the right guys to make it more sellable,” said the man holding the case. “You won’t find anyone else that has perfected the method quite like our guys.”

Beanie stands there silently, a deep contemplating look sets on his face.

“We could show you again,” drawled a taller man stood by the case holder, his long double-breasted coat and black fedora hat practically screamed villain to Peter in every sense of the word, “but we have several buyers to impress. We simply don’t have the time. Eros is sold as is in its base form at our price, if you can - as you have told us - modify it into a more direct selling product, say, a pill? Then we’ll all make a very nice salary.”

Peter decides he’s heard enough, a drug bust to end the night? Perfect. He shoots his web forward and speeds through the air to land heavily on the car, denting the hood.

He bent away in an exaggerated pose, pointing at his feet. “Oh, oops!” He said, “Sorry, guys. That’s gonna be a nasty fix!” before leaping off casually onto the gravel to web two of the grunt men to a letterbox, their heads colliding and web spun around their necks to press their cheeks together. “Cute!”

He turned and quickly jabbed Beanie in the face and curved his body away to avoid his gunshot, the bullet grazing the shoulder of Super Villain instead. The force of the web he shot dragged Beanie upwards to dangle unceremoniously under the lamplight. Peter finally webs the last two at once; Super Villain’s head was slammed to the ground by the web wrapping itself around his head on impact, knocking him out cold. Case holder had dropped the case when Peter’s web instantly hauled his body to the hood of the van. He shot another web at his mouth for self-satisfaction.

Peter checked the time on his monitor: 11:19 PM. Perfect. He’ll ring the police, write a note, and make it back home before 12. As he surveyed the scene for another moment – if only Mr. Stark could have seen that! – The brief case’s lid had popped open on impact to the ground. Curiosity only killed the cat, Peter thought, and wandered over. On his knees, he peered inside. It was lined with black lightweight protective foam, and nestled within a groove in the center was a long thin vial. Peter picked it up gently, teetering it to watch the thick solution travel to both ends of the glass. It barely glowed, he could see it give his red fingers a magenta hue to it and –

“Peter-” Karen started, his spider-senses like a Taser directly to the back of the neck –

There was the thunderous crack of a gun unloading its round into his back. The vial fell from his hands and shattered instantly, the pink solution vaporized into a billowing plume of dark green smoke directly into Peter’s face. The smell of it was sharp and it tasted acrid on his tongue straight to his throat, his lungs sorely burned. He turned and shot a web at the gun, forcing it out of the hand of the man and flinging it far into the darkness, the sound of it skidding rang sharply in his ears.

“Word of advice, dude,” Peter panted then gagged, the pure willpower it took to draw himself back to his feet was agonizing. “A fedora? Really? – hhhhh – Gross.” He webbed him directly into the eyes.

He turned away, no time to waste peeling his mask off to spit or cough up the taste of the chemical, and attempted to shoot a web directly at a telephone pole. He missed. He missed again, and watched it only spindly fly into the air before collapsing like silly string. Only on his seventh attempt did it stick soundly onto the pole and it took every bit of strength to haul himself above the ground to swing away. Peter thanked his stars as a Pepsi truck drove by and hitched a ride back into the inner city.

Karen notified him of his impending arrival before he nearly passed out totally and he sluggishly webbed himself off and back into the rear window entrance of his apartment. Quietly he stripped the suit’s top away, and attempted to pluck out a bullet or two – he couldn’t tell how many had actually embedded into his body, his back was glistening with fresh blood, the skin looked pulpy from the entry wounds. In tip-toe fashion he sagged into bed, unbothered by his pants left on or the blood still oozing heaving from his back. He picked his phone up from the floor, rang Happy, and rest the phone to the side of his head as his hands dangled lifelessly over the side.

“Are you serious? What do you want, do you have an—”

“…Help.”

Darkness descended around him like a thick warm cloak, he welcomed it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How does Eros effect Peter Parker, how does that affect Tony Stark.

When Peter was beginning to stir Tony got an announcement from FRIDAY, jerking him out of a dreamless sleep. He pushed away from the bench, the wheels of the lab chair spun around against the floor from the force of it. Tony smacked his lips – tacky – and licked a flakey patch of saliva out of his moustache. His bloodshot eyes ached from the hours spent endlessly observing between the Spidersuit’s baby-monitor footage and the hospital wing surveillance on the flat screen. He was tired as fuck; and in acknowledgement to that thought he sipped from a flask hidden in his bench drawer, returned it, and lugged himself out. He groaned at the lit hall and shut his eyes briefly, trying to navigate through the smallest slits he could make.

 

During his ascent to the hospital floor, Tony recalled last night’s events: Happy and a handful of armed medical enforcements flew the Quinjet out to Queens, tasked with collecting Peter and to recover Aunt May’s lost composure at the sudden reality of armed government personal swooping through her windows, her Swiss-cheese nephew wearing Spider-man’s suit limp in a bed soaked in blood. This boy was bobbing on the cusp of his second decade and was already more disposed to a lifestyle of probable death than any seasoned military man he knew.

 

Tony was clenching his hands so tightly that he thought his knuckles might split open. Had Peter not called…

 

The elevator belled his arrival and the doors gave way to the wide white marble floors, the clinical smell of Lysol was cloying as it introduced itself to the alcohol sitting on his tongue. He shook his hands free of their tension and stepped out to continue on his way towards Peter’s medical room.

 

As he came in, nodding in regards to the medical staff, Peter was already beginning to sit himself up. A nurse stood forward to coax Peter back into the mattress, but he only observed her like he’d never heard English in his life. His face was flushed pink, and his skin was gleaming from sweat. Tony watched as droplets raced down the length of his swan neck, slipping away into his hospital gown. Tony could have been convinced that he was transported unknowingly away to a sauna for hours. Peter ignored the nurse, smooth as undisturbed water, and turned his attention forward, casting his eyes up to meet Tony’s.

 

“Woah,” Tony said, mind reeling all at once, “are eyes supposed to look like that?”

 

Peter’s pupils had blown up enormously, leaving a fine line of rich brown. They were glazed over as if his mind was elsewhere entirely, only staring. Still staring right at Tony as he began to pull away from the cotton hospital cover and crawl on his knees towards the end of the bed.

 

“Mr. Parker, dear – Mr. Parker please! Your bandages!” A nurse cried, her hands agitatedly hovering over his shoulders, afraid to touch him.

 

In Peter’s unrecognisable stupor he didn’t notice the drip ripping out of his hand, or the way his half-healed body was reopening and bleeding into the bandages and blue gown, that of which as he finally paused at the foot, slowly stripped away and discarded in a mess of red stained fabric.

 

The room froze in horror. Peter lay there, his expression omitted any self-awareness or shame; his back bowed to expose his blushed neck and narrow chest, his toned tummy gently moving in sync with his shallow breathing, his milky thighs opened to expose his –

 

His cock was slender and bounced with the slightest movement. It was the prettiest cock Tony had ever seen and it was oozing an unreal amount of pre-cum down the shaft. It only continued to dribble into the covers as Peter lay, totally waiting and expecting. “Please Mr. Stark,” he finally breathed out. “Please.”

 

He was beginning to feel an answering heat in his groin.

 

That was the limit to all Tony could handle: “Okay. Can someone put his dress back on?” He pleaded. His thumb massaging the furrowed lines between his brows in an attempt to calm not only the headache blooming but also the visceral disgust Tony was feeling towards himself for staring at the display for moments too many. Peter was already slipping comfortably into a leg split on the bed, twisting around to show everyone in the room his perked ass, albeit marred with lines of fresh blood from his reopened wounds. “Oh my god, can someone PLEASE put it back on?”  
  
The staff at once got a grip of themselves and two wrestled Peter back onto to his back, covering him modestly with a clean sheet folded precisely in the far corner of the room.

 

Tony absconded before he could meet Peter’s eyes again.

 

* * *

 

Peter heaved a breath and tore away from the blankets; the room he was in wasn’t lit except for the lemony hallway light glowing through the door’s window. His chest drummed and his skin was clammy from the overwhelming anxiety flooding him in a symphony of horrible emotions.

 

He was alone.

 

The heels on his palms dug deeply into his eyes, a fruitless attempt to keep the tears in, as he sobbed loudly. What was he thinking? What happened to him? He couldn’t imagine ever showing his face to anyone, especially Mr. Stark. The horror on the man’s face flickered behind his eyes and he groaned. Deep down, Peter was afraid – not because he believed his mutation would have imparted more strength to keep his mental autonomy – he was afraid of how naturally it felt to open himself on full display to Mr. Stark. He felt sick, and dirty – Why did Mr. Stark have to come when he had. He remembered the massive overburden of senses when he began to rouse; the smell of the medical supplies, the nurses’ latex gloves, the sound of the clock’s arm ticking on the wall, Mr. Stark’s cologne – it forced him to sit up, it was distressingly amazing – the alcohol, the sweat, the sound of his breath stopping at the site of Peter –

 

And when Mr. Stark had left, his desire had affected him like an adrenaline shot, maddening his symptoms. It was the single most painful experience in Peter’s life.

 

* * *

 

 

Peter’s life was only saved because of his mutation. His rapid healing had tirelessly battled when his temperature flew to 120° **F** , while his heart rate broke speeds of 150bps, almost double the average of a person his size. After two days of monitoring by an endless clockwork of rotating medical staff, the boy’s vitals had resumed some slight normalcy – a slight fever, cold sweat, and quick pulse.

 

“It’s safe to assume the…narcotic…” the nurse said slowly, reviewing her clipboard gripped in her manicured hands, “will be totally withdrawn from his system by tomorrow. At the rate that Mr.Parker’s body is healing himself, that is. I’ll come by again tomorrow to make sure.”

 

Tony waved her away with a quick flick of the fingers. “Thanks, Nance, then that’s all.” He turned back to continue being fixated over the rewound hologram footage: the immediate vast density and volume of the billowing plume of dark green smoke, it rose like an animated creature, it overwhelmed the baby-monitor footage for a moment showing only black-green. This poison was clearly enough to kill two men at once, let alone a boy. But Peter was no average boy, Tony chastised himself mentally, and yet he still was at the same time.

 

“It’s alien, we both know that.” Tony heard Bruce say, he turned to listen. Bruce was hunched over a microscope, his black hair bobbing as he rotated between referring to his laptop’s notes and then back to inspect the particle traces off of Peter’s suit. “I think this might be synthetic to a certain degree, and I’m not going to say it’s far fetched to assume this has an element of organic matter. Brood blood, maybe? It would explain why Peter became so… mindless. I don’t know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like this in my life, Tony.” He was rubbing his face gruffly as he finished speaking, squashing his glasses into his uncombed hairline. “This is intense.”

 

Tony turned back to the footage, still bizarrely preoccupied with staring harshly into the static of the hologram. He felt a bit like he was going to spontaneously combust. The outrage he felt about Peter betraying his caution, the fear he felt watching Peter’s vitals display wildly – his panic, his fear, the pain – from the lungful of alien roofies and his back pumped full of lead. He listened to the gasps and muffled, teary groans as Peter flung himself urgently from lamppost to building to truck to apartment window-

 

“Yes.” He interrupted his own train of thought. “Yeah. I’m gonna talk to him now.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

When Tony arrived to Peter’s new temporary room - a little more on the hotel-vibe than an outright clinic ER - he was already putting clothes on. Peter wiggled into his jeans and turned around, his shirt was a little on the big side with a Pikachu on the front.

 

Peter gestured to it and asked, “Is this really all Happy could find to give me?”

 

Tony snorted. “Like the guy cares, Parker. Give him credit for remembering considering what he had to deal with.”  
  
The boy stops at that and sinks his teeth into his lower lip shyly, working it till it went pink as he thought of a way to not make this conversation go there.

 

“We’re talking about it,” Tony said, as if answering Peter’s dilemma himself.

 

The alarm that overcame Peter’s expression was surreal, almost comical and cartoonish, and Tony realized –

 

“No. No. God no, not that.” He forced the ends of his fingers into his eyelids to regain his composure, rubbing them soothingly. “No. We’re going to talk about what were you thinking. What the fuck gave you the balls to go against what I‘ve said a hundred times before about keeping out of trouble? Why were you out past your bedtime? Seriously, Parker?”

 

“I don’t have a bedtime,” he seethed, reddening with humiliation.

 

“Maybe you should consider then!”

 

“I’ve called Happy about this before!” Peter wailed, he looked frazzled and desperate, uncomfortable at the major shift in his own tone and he nearly whispered as he went on, “I told him - I told him so many times to tell you – about the people going missing –“

 

“What does that have to do with any of this?” Tony’s voice rose angrily, he was getting even more exasperated with every passing moment. “You had no reason to be that far out of the city. None. Why can’t you just stop jaywalkers or bike snatchers like I asked you to? I told you this was enough and you’ve seriously two-plyed and folded what I’ve said and wiped your ungrateful fucking ass with it! ”

 

“I know! I know, I’m sorry. I really am, sir.” Peter rubbed the back of his neck in habit and continued, “but if I don’t help –“

 

“That’s what _police_ are for, Parker! Police do armed drug busts!”

 

“I thought police did _murders_ too!”

 

The energy in the room tripled, the frenzied anger that exploded in Peter’s eyes was arresting. Peter’s voice raised several octaves higher and his eyes went glassy. Tony felt his abdomen scrunch like he’d taken a long drop, prepared for the fact that what he was about to hear… He wasn’t qualified to. “Where were they? Where were they when my uncle got shot in his own kitchen? Where were they? When just about everyone in our building called about a disturbance, or a gun shot sound, or screaming, where were they?” Peter’s face, always so smooth without a line or mark, screwed into an ugly, teary scowl. His plump lips pulled tight and thin to reveal every damn tooth in his mouth. He was reliving some very hard memories in seconds behind his brown eyes.

 

“Look, Peter, it’s not the same – ”

 

“No! No you don’t get to do that! You don’t get to tell me how I should feel! This drug is dangerous – people are going to be hurt, and I know this has to do with the kidnappings – I know I’m going to do whatever I can to end this. I’m not backing down. I’m not… I’m not just Peter Parker anymore, Mr. Stark.”

 

“You’re still just a damn boy!” Tony complained; he was breaking.

 

“Then please help me, Mr Stark. Please. Please just a few days. I’ve seriously thought about it. It wasn’t intentional when I went there that night but I think they’ve been using… using what they had at the harbor to kidnap people.”

           

“It’s a sex drug, Peter.”

 

The boy blushed, and nodded lowly to agree. “Yeah. But I remember what it felt like. I remember how…”

 

“How what?”

  
  
“How I could have done anything you wanted me to, Mr. Stark.” His eyes were so bright then, brown and wide as ever.

 

Tony had to cough and swallow down the heart that leapt into his throat.

 

“So you think – I’m just trying to get this straight here – that a drug you’ve only just heard of and seen, no mention of it whatsoever until now mind you, is involved with the missing cases that have been going on for months?”

 

Peter stared, posture straight and his intense expression burning with certainty. Not a tear anymore in sight.

 

“Yes. Mr. Stark.”

 

He broke. Tony turned his back to Peter and placed his hand on the handle, pressing down and releasing it from its automated lock. “If this isn’t solved in three days, you’ll hand this over to the police. No vigilante, drug-ring busting Spiderman. You won’t sigh a word about this anymore to me, to Happy. I’m going to see your bug eyed, red face on some local news channel with the head story: Spider-man helps orphans with math homework. Capisce?”

 

He opened the door and bolted as soon as he could without making it a scene or hearing a response, knowing fully well that if he turned around he would have seen the brightest, most honest grin plastered on Peter’s face.

 

* * *

 

 

After the day had passed, and Peter had had a chance to go home to Aunt May, Tony took a moment to explore his sources for anything related to Eros.

 

The problem, he and Bruce realised, was that this narcotic vanished from the human system the moment its symptoms withdrew. This was becoming a matter of proving something that’s impossible to trace, with cautious sellers and missing witnesses. Tony was going to have to become creative with his strategy. He made some calls.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Peter was flown back to the Avenger’s compound in the evening. There was a super-human bounce to his step as he sauntered in, with the rare pass from school – and the even rarer chance to work together with Mr. Stark himself – he glowed with a new found vigour. It was the kind of vigour that almost convinced Tony that he hadn’t begged to be fucked into the hospital mattress in front of five people.

 

“Hi, Mr. Stark!” So cheery and so sober, it made Tony sick. “I really want to let you know just how excited I am about this, really. So super excited. This is seriously the best moment of my life – like – _ever_.” His whole body convulsed in excitement when his eyes leaped from the picked apart parts of a suit’s repulsor blast to Dum-E swinging haphazardly in the corner to the several benches littered with scrap and waste. “I love this!”

 

Without bothering to stand or even cock the elbow he was resting his cheek on off the table, Tony kicked a spare wheeled chair out. Peter took the invitation and planted himself comfortably. He observed Peter watching him silently before speaking: “We’re going to go over the baby-monitor footage I have installed in your suit just so I can confirm some information and get that transferred into my suit’s AI –” Peter’s eyebrows rose and his mouth dropped open slackly, he looked surprised, impressed, and a little sorely irked about that all at once “- oh, yes, I’ve always been able to see. Don’t worry, I only look when I need to. Anyway!”

 

Tony clapped his hands together and rubbed energy into them. “FRI-”

 

“Wait!” Peter interrupted, swinging idly in his chair, his fish-themed pajamas clad legs crossed Buddha-style. “Should we get a coffee or something?”

 

“Why’s that?” Tony mused, his arms crossed slowly over his chest.

 

“I dunno, we’re gonna be up for a while I s’pose? Keep us alert in case we see anything important, right? Like a pair of detectives?”

 

“Sure.” Tony kept his eyes steady, not once giving away the pure horror he felt at the anchored reality of just how young Peter was, and continued: “FRIDAY, play back baby-monitor footage on the 12th of January, 11:21pm.”

 

_Sure thing, Mr.Stark._

 

A circular hologram erupted from nothing between them, the paused scene from Peter’s perspective from his perch on the boating shed clear to see. In that moment, Tony could see Peter’s complete awe of the magnified image from his own eyes, the technology itself stunning him to silence.

 

Tony silently raised his hands to it, his hands moving to roll the image around like a globe. He tapped gently onto the cluster of dark shapes with two fingers, expanding the image to show all the men’s faces half lit by the yellow lamplight. The contortion of light did nothing to slow down the AR heads-up and facial recognition system that took place configuring in seconds – much like what happened through Peter’s eye lenses in real time – a column of names and personal information including their criminal history positioned neatly next to all their heads. Before Peter could open his mouth to express his delight for the umpteenth time, Tony swiveled the image again, augmenting the license plate of the blue Toyato van.

It’s pixilation scrambled as it drew in, before aligning together to show: NNY-3456.

 

“Aha!” Peter exclaimed, “Hells yeah! High five!”

 

Tony eyed the eager hand that phased through the hologram, Peter’s hand was unscathed and delicately shaped. He imagined what it would be like to swipe his roughed thumb over the palm, he’s frankly a little impressed with the healing element’s ability to give Peter such nice skin. The hand falter’s a little before the fingers wiggled in anticipation, beaconing for contact.

 

“C’mon… You can’t just not do it. It’s sacrilege!”

 

They high-fived and then Tony returned his attention back towards the columns of information now narrowed and arranged in front of him. “FRIDAY, codec what I’ve pulled up, transmit that into my suit. Feed those names through the police data files and let me know as soon as a name is recently listed, let me know exactly where any of these men have been spotted in the last 4 days if it’s police notified. Oh, and order us a long black with an extra shot and…uh… a mocha.”

 

_Will do, Mr. Stark. Would Mr. Parker like sugar with that?_

“Yes, please!”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Spiderman and Ironman weaved in and out together around Queen’s skyscrapers. There was a coffee cup in Ironman’s hand, the built-in stabilizer kept its contents level during the flight. There was a coffee cup, too, in Spiderman’s – but his had lost several ounces along the way, sloshing over his gloved hand before the lid flew off entirely from a brief squeeze he gave it in response to the burn.

 

They recuperate on a building. Peter swings and sticks a landing before peeling the lip of his mask away to smack a few drops of mocha onto his stuck out tongue.

 

“I don’t see why you didn’t just hold mine too?” Peter asked exasperatedly, eyeing the armoured man with his narrowed white eyes.

 

“You didn’t ask. Anyway,” his mask clicks and exposes his face, he samples the coffee before scrunching his face, but it’s hard to tell in the far away glow of the street. He tossed the cup away over his shoulder, ignoring the protest of Peter who webbed the now empty cup to his hand and placing it gingerly on the roof’s floor. “We’re going to meet some folks.”

 

“Meet who?” Peter asked, rolling his mask back over his lips.

 

“Gave some calls to some old friends, Eros isn’t as mysterious as I thought it would be.”

 

Peter rolled his shoulders, loosening his tense muscles at the tension of possible scenarios. “Ok then, let’s go.” He took a step to leap from the roof, but an arm slammed firmly over his small chest, stopping him in his tracks.

 

“Not so fast, Spiderman.” The suit sighed as its panels released, exposing Mr. Stark who comfortably walked out, dressed in a pressed pinstripe suit and tie. “Let’s look a little less obvious, yeah?”

 

“How did you-“ Peter’s eye lenses expand, “you only were gone for five minutes before we left, when did you have the time to do that?”

 

Tony’s brow hitched up incredulously, “how long do you think it takes to put on a suit?”

 

“Not five minutes, man! You didn’t tell me anything, I didn’t bring any spare clothes!” His arms flailed to signal towards himself and his suit.

 

“Oh, I know.” Mr. Stark said, rubbing a hand through his carefully tousled hair, and pulled a plastic bag with his other that was kept in the suit. “Let’s hope it fits.”

 

Peter pulled out a maroon colored hoodie, faded blue jeans, and white canvas shoes. He couldn’t imagine it being any different from what he would normally wear to school. “Cool! But wait –“ he paused, cautiously returning his gaze back to the older man’s turnout. “What the heck? Are we doing separate stake outs? A bust?”

 

Tony clicked his tongue impatiently. “No,” he said. “Makes more sense to look this way.” He glanced at his watch. “Chop chop.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> got the second chapter lying around so i may as well post it!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wanted to split the last chapter since there's a lot happening, so it might be 5 chapters in total, we'll see!

 

Peter was wrong. This wasn’t like anything he would wear to school- Peter had never been more wrong. His gifted maroon hoodie was way more cropped than he had expected, and it hung loosely above his belly button. Fortunately his jeans were not trimmed too low, but low enough to expose a good three-inch band of pale white flesh around his abdomen.

 

“Mr. Stark, I don’t think –” He began deliberately, eyebrows upturned in a forbearingly confused expression.

 

“Where we’re going, that get-up fits in just fine.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The club was multiple stories high; it was a round, semi-spiral shaped building with extensions of balconies and glass elevators. People who arrived where not the kind of people Peter ever imagined himself walking on the same side of the street with, let alone waiting first in line to anything in his life.

They slipped in wordlessly - no cameras or phones, people slipped in and out into their cars frequently, no one was puking or causing fights in the street like he pictured nightclubs did in shows. The whole trip down to the city street Peter was babbling in panic. “Mr. Stark, what if someone recognized you?” He cried, “Mr. Stark, what if someone takes a picture and they figure out I’m Spiderman?”

 

Mr. Stark only continued descending, his broad back moving with total poise even in the dark stairway.

 

But in the club, Mr. Stark lit up routinely, his out-of-the-shadows façade setting. Effortlessly shaking hands here and there, others would also give a nod, a knowing smile, or deliberately tuck away things cautiously into a jacket or behind their backs; he was mindful of the guns, the drugs, the money… the children… No one spoke names, the names that mattered, at least.

 

Peter’s sensitive eyes struggled to focus on the strobe lights, they moved and circled around the large area too quickly while flashing, it made it a struggle to easily follow behind Mr. Stark. His mouth popped open in surprise when lights curved over the naked body of a shapely woman, who danced up on a high platform stage. His eyes wandered around to see more swinging their bodies over high balconies, their glitter clad breasts wobbling in the light as they delightedly waved or beckoned to below –

 

Peter bumped into Mr. Stark’s firm back, the older man’s face snapped around and he fiercely mouthed ‘ _Watch. It._ ’

 

He continued on this time with his head lowered sheepishly, and they went undisturbed to and off the elevator and arrived at a private party room. Not once did someone draw unwanted notice, it made Peter wonder… How many worldly important and powerful people had he passed without ever knowing he did? Mr. Stark was let in immediately by the guard stood by the door, who patiently waited for the both of them to completely pass through before closing it behind them.

 

The inside was much bigger than Peter imagined, with a long curving bar that followed along the glass-lined terrace. There was a dance floor and lounge area for both split-levels.

 

Mr. Stark turned around to face him, grabbing Peter’s utter, breathless attention, before sliding a hand around his bare waist to plant a warm hand on the small of Peter’s back, guiding him to the upper level lounge area. There were three men sitting there, their thighs and arms decorated with naked girls, maybe Peter’s age or more, their young, flushed expressions oblivious and vacant. The men were talking amongst themselves over the music when Tony approached, two men nodded to him and one immediately pulled out a black duffle bag. No one cared despite how obviously illegal this all seemed, to Peter’s outright disgust.

 

“Pretty boy,” cooed the man who stood to quickly shake Tony’s hand, “I can’t imagine this being for him. I’m sure he’ll take a good cock like it’s nothing.” Those words repulsed Peter to the core.

 

“I’m having a party sometime. Entertainment is important,” said Tony smoothly, with practiced confidence. “I wanted to host for a particular kind of crowd, and I was told by my previous sellers that you were the guys to talk to.”

 

“Let me show you what we can offer you, then.” The second zipped apart the duffle bag and pulled out a foam panel that held several glass cylinders containing rows of plum colored tablets. “These are the latest of Eros to be sold on the market, these can be taken or snorted.”

 

“And what exactly are its properties?” Tony asked casually.

 

“Alien,” one replied slowly. Peter realized these three men had no clue about anything besides how to push and sell what they were given. This was becoming a race to find the manufacturers, before anymore Eros found its way into the underground market being pushed by criminals like these. How did Mr. Stark ever come across these kinds of people in the first place? How much of Mr. Stark now was lying? How much of him was being his honest self?

 

Tony hummed, but it was lost to the music, and continued: “What makes this any different to roofies or GHB? A quarter of the price for way more product.”

 

“Eros lasts much, much longer,” said the third man who had returned to his seat to be slowly swarmed by the girls, “and they gag nonstop to be fucked. Girls go wet like you’ve never seen before; the only thing in their heads is what is the next thing to stuff into their pussies… Watch.” He hoisted the smallest girl over his lap, and stuck four fingers right in, never breaking eye-contact from Mr. Stark as he finger fucked her. The girl keened loudly and clawed at the lapels of the drug dealer’s suit, her gaze was half-lidded and totally lost of any thought. Peter struggled to not turn away in dismay. “Hours like this. Anything you want. However you want. One pill.”

 

Peter looked down then and slowly drew his hand into his hoodie’s pocket as Tony spoke in response; Droney was nestled into the cusp of his palm. He had detached it from its socket on his emblem before storing the whole suit away into the plastic bag on the roof, he always made it a habit to bring a part of his suit with him. Peter pressed the abdomen gently with his thumb, the faint hum assured Peter that Droney switched on. Making sure no one paid attention to him he pulled it out, hidden in his fist, before he dropped it to the carpet. He watched it stealthily tread its way towards the suitcase.

 

Peter’s heart leaped out of his chest with an overwhelming sense of doom, however, when Droney began to wander off-course. Its moving joints and little whirring engine deafening to Peter’s sensitive hearing. It spun in the shadows, directly facing Peter, as if the little machine was questioning its objective.

 

‘ _The bag,’_ Peter mouthed. His hand placed by his hip did a slight, but exaggerated gun-point to the right where the duffle bag sat open on the red leather sofa. All the men continued to speak without casting a single eye to Peter or Droney.

 

The drone’s miniature propulsion engine activated, and it hovered slightly from the carpet before slowly ascending to the leather seat – Peter’s eyes squeezed shut for a moment to prepare for someone to notice, to yell in surprise, to… –

 

Droney slipped into the opening of the bag, hidden away from sight. Peter hid his smile as he realized his tracking device idea totally worked, and gave a thankful glance to Mr. Stark’s profile for building him the drone. He didn’t expect the man to turn back to him to return a look, his eyebrow cocked questioningly but his mouth was upturned in the slight smirk, before he turned back to accept two glass containers that were sellotaped together.

 

By now the excitement Peter felt from the whole situation was overcoming him; it piled on top of his senses with the flashing lights, loud music, the stink of tobacco smoke and something else he didn’t quite know, the moans, and the laughing. He had to get out of here for fresh air, he realized, and so did Tony when the man popped a deliberate smack to his jean-clad ass to shock him from his thoughts. “Get me a drink, won’t you? Daddy still has to talk.”

 

And that was Peter’s cue to gratefully slip away and abscond out into the foyer, making his way out of sight down an empty hallway to jump out of a window.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Peter’s sleeves were pushed away to reveal his web-shooters, which he fired into the darkness as he fell. It landed and he swung himself down below, landing soundlessly in the alleyway. He had his hoodie up but the cold air was refreshing to his exposed skin around his face and tummy. This was the wildest night of his life - going undercover with Mr. Stark in an affluent nightclub, and everything was coming together. They got the drug! He was already imagining them returning to the lab together to uncover more about its components. He would tell Mr. Stark about Droney and the man would gently pat his head in appraisal. He would be an Avenger, finally. Mr. Stark would see him as a man. Mr. Stark would treat him like the man he knew he was. Touch him like one…

 

His ears picked up the soft sound of breathing, it was coming from behind the dumpster.

 

He pulled the hoodie higher over his head to hide more of his face – his heart beat wildly in his chest – as he slowly closed in around the skip. His heart that fluttered immediately stopped momentarily, descending with the rest of his insides to the coldest pit in his body at the sight:

 

Stacy Lui.

 

Her black hair was tangled and dirtied; the only thing she had on was a stretched man’s shirt, a small breast exposed as the neckline slipped way past her shoulder. Her small fifteen-year-old body shook.  
  
Peter remembered Ned’s gossip earlier that week. How long had she been here? He rushed to her and touched her arm, the skin burning with a fever, slick with sweat despite the freezing night air. He could smell the pungent odor of sex and something else…

 

Stacy’s hand slowly closed around his wrist, and Peter looked to meet her eyes. The pupils had blown up enormously and her gaze was void of… Anything. She started to pull his hand towards her opening thighs - he fleetingly felt the warm, severely wet flesh before quickly yanking his hand and pulling away entirely, he looked away in embarrassment.

 

“I’m so sorry, Stacy. I’m so sorry this happened to you…” Peter’s eyes screwed shut and his shoulders shook, all the bad emotions came in at once to snuff out the excitement he had, “I’m so sorry. I’ve been trying my best, but I still let you down…” He began to cry. He felt sick to his stomach at the thought of what could have happened to her in the past three weeks.

 

“Please…Please touch me. I want you to touch me… I want to touch you… Let me,” she rambled.

 

He cried even harder and in a torrent of grief and anger, Peter punched the wall. The surface cracked and concaved under the force of his strength. He punched it again, and again, and his knuckles split and bled and he punched until -

 

“There you are, Jesus. Stupid bitch!” A man came out after noticing them, striding out from one of the club’s small exits. He shoved Peter out of the way and began to drag the girl up by her wrist, while her other hand pawed uselessly at his crotch. “Stop fucking wandering around.”

 

Peter regained himself after the push, narrowing his eyes lethally at the man as he slowly warned: “Don’t touch her. She’s not for you to take. You’re not going to hurt her anymore.”

 

The man spat on his cheek.

 

Stupid… Stupid… STUPID.

 

Peter’s instinct caused him to blindly fling his fist directly at the man’s face, he felt the cartilage crumble beneath the force and propel sharp fragments into his brain. The man was thrown back at the force and he gripped his bloodied face as his back hit the floor, he screamed at the pain and gargled as the blood flooded down his throat.

 

“Peter! What the _fuck_ did you do?”

 

Mr. Stark?

 

As if on cue, five men swamped the narrow passageway from the same exit way. Alerted by the screams, they held guns in their hands, the barrels pointed straight at Peter.

 

“I held back on that one I swear, he’s fine!” Peter raised his hands up, his right was bleeding into his sleeve from the burst knuckles, and his left was bleeding into his sleeve from the blood of the man’s broken face.

 

Mr. Stark in an instant grappled a grip around the neck of the closest man in front of him; his other hand closed around the gun and shot at the shoulders of the two on either side of him as they began to turn around in surprise. He changed his hold to the base of the man’s skull before slamming it into the brick wall, swiping at the now unconscious man’s legs to let him topple in a horizontal slump to the ground.

 

Peter webbed the faces of the two shot men, hauling them forward so their heads collided with a sick crunch, while Mr. Stark blasted the last two with his hidden miniature repulsors. In seconds everything was quiet again, save for the muffled groaning of the man missing his nose on the floor.

 

“What happened to my drink, Parker?” Mr. Stark said, rubbing an ache away from his shoulder.

 

“How did you know I was here?” Peter asked.

 

He inclined his chin forward, nodding to the bloodied, sunken-in brick wall.

 

“Heard you.”

 

“Oh,” Peter realized, ashamed. He could have blown their whole cover. He still could, if anyone else had heard the fight in the alleyway. “I’m sorry. I just…” He looked over at Stacy, who was now crawling on her knees aimlessly.

 

“I know,” Mr. Stark – Tony… Peter corrected, his heart fluttering in the most magical kind of way – said, his aged face softened sympathetically.

They stared at each other, they didn’t move, only breathed. Breathed in the smell of gunpowder, the smell of blood, of garbage. It was electrifying.

 

“…You…Fucking…Fucking…” The man on the floor heaved a wet sounding breath, “I’ll fucking… I’ll…” His hand moved to his pocket and drew out something in his hand. With whatever strength he somehow mustered, he flung something to the ground – a pink vial – and it shattered.

 

Dark green smoke rose in seconds, in a gust of unstoppable force.

 

Tony activated his suit’s locator; it rushed to him in seconds, but before Peter could see the armored panels protect him, the veil of green covered everything like a wave. He stood there frozen - his limbs locked in fear - before Ironman burst from the center the cloud, hurdling towards Peter in seconds and seizing him by the waist before he really ever had a moment to register what was happening.

 

They flew straight up into the air, whirling in circles as if Tony was failing to remain in control of his suit. They plunged quickly, the wind shrilly whistled in Peter’s ears, and he clung uselessly to the smooth metal shoulders of the suit to prepare himself for impact.

 

The roof’s asphalt of a nearby building shredded his hoodie to string as he felt himself skidding on his back, his skin absolutely _burned_. When the Iron suit collided with him, they tumbled wildly along the entire roof’s surface, ending their crash at the very edge of the roof; Peter’s head lay back to find nothing, his hair swung softly in the wind. He couldn’t help the sigh, despite the white-hot pain scorching its way from his back to the ends of his toes, because he was alive.

 

They were both alive.

 

Peter’s hands automatically gripped at the mask’s face panel and _pulled_. The metal sheet began to bend, and he tore it away enough for it to hang loosely on the side of Tony’s face.

 

Even in the night, even with only the light of the streets, Peter could see Tony’s eyes. His eyes framed with dark lashes and age lines, once a deep brown, were now swallowed by dilated pupils.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope everyone had a great easter weekend ;-) here's the next one, there'll be a 5th and last chapter coming sometime this week.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter tried tentatively, “Mr. Stark are you hurt?”

 

The suit hissed and slowly exposed Tony’s upper body, the pin-stripe suit was wrinkled and torn slightly at the shoulder from the fight.

 

“Let me touch you…” Tony said hoarsely; there was a twitch and a slight twist of conflict on his face, as if he still had some understanding and independence. Had he not been exposed to enough of the gas? Peter was hopeful to grace the chance.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

“ _Burns_.”

 

Peter could only remember the feeling of utter need as his body squirmed at the fever and the throbbing arousal in the hospital wing. It hurt, and it burned. His brain cut off any other thoughts, however, when Tony’s thighs were released from the suit, the metal armor collapsed away to the side with a crash. The warm firm pressure on Tony’s crotch was electrifying as the older man gave an animalistic thrust against his belly, and Peter was powerless to stop the feeling of his own cock pulsing in response.

 

“Mr. Stark – ”

 

As if Tony could smell the blood filling it, he gripped Peter’s hips and hoisted his body off the asphalt, smothering his crotch against his mouth and inhaling a lungful through his nose. Tony pulled away and licked a wide stripe from one jean-clad thigh, over the bulge of Peter’s cock and zipper, to next jean-clade thigh.

 

Peter’s brain short-circuited and he whimpered into the inner crook of his elbow, smothering his face away into the hoodies sleeve. “ _Oh_.”

 

Tony dropped him – Peter’s legs fell on either side of the man’s hips – and the abrupt feeling of his wet, tattered back making contact with the rough surface caused Peter to hiss in pain. But Tony didn’t or couldn’t pay him any mind, and instead grabbed him by his hood with one hand, and scrambled the other to force his suit pants and black briefs down past his hips. Even through tear-blurred eyes Peter could still see the swollen length of Tony Stark’s dick spring away from him, its purpling head oozed so much pre-cum that it gave the dick a thick glossy shine to it. Pre-cum drizzled in clear ribbons over Peter’s exposed belly as Tony forced him to his knees; he was beginning to look like a Cinnamon roll.

 

Peter wanted to protest more, for Tony’s sake. He could have pushed him off even despite his back if he really wanted to, he could have webbed himself off the roof and let the man regain himself as he called someone. But he didn’t. He could only imagine what Tony felt, and how mind-bendingly torturous the sexual need was. He remembered how he cried and screamed when Tony left the hospital room… How his whole body wanted to physically scream itself in half.

 

He didn’t say a word when Tony stood and rushed the full length of his cock into Peter’s mouth, slamming itself into the opening of his throat. Peter gagged and inhaled sharply through his nostrils at the pain and the taste, but kept his body still and his eyes half-closed. The older man shook violently at the outlet of pressure in him, and snapped his hips back and forth wildly without rhythm into the warm-wet heat.

 

Tony face fucked Peter till the boy’s cheeks were pink with breathlessness and wet from a stream of tears, then he groaned and pulled out without warning and Peter could only watch as several strings of saliva between his lips and Tony’s cock blow away from the night wind.

 

Peter’s body was flipped and he had to grip the edge of the roof before Tony could have the chance to fuck him off it. Tony’s cock continued to be a spout of endless pre-cum, it re-lubricated the hardened flesh and dribbled lines over Peter’s puckered hole. The ring tightened slightly at the contact when the head pushed forward and nudged, making the muscle gape open then shut in reflex.

 

Breathe, Peter pleaded to himself, _breathe_!

 

His torn back shrieked when the muscles there twisted with surprise and pain as half of Tony’s cock sunk in at once - it couldn’t fit in any further. Tony pulled away and pumped himself inside again, still only half-way. Peter was beginning to feel his insides slicken and fill up from the dicks drug induced discharge, it was bizarre and the whole experience was nothing like the self-exploring finger or vibrator in the middle of the night. Luckily for Peter, his quick-healing quirk kicked in as he calmed himself down, and the prickling from his un-prepped muscles tearing muted, only leaving behind the feeling of him being stretched perfectly. So perfectly –

 

“Oh my god,” Peter moaned, throwing his head back and letting his sweat slick hair fall away from his forehead. “Don’t stop, please. Don’t stop.” He threw himself gladly into the loose-tongued ramble if it encouraged the man to throw himself harder at him, to grind the tip and curve of his cock into the spots that made him claw grooves in the cement, to squeeze the stinging bruises into his hips and to –

 

Tony shouted out his release, and his dick softened, ending it all with a final thrust.

 

Before Peter would give the man the chance to respond, unsure of how long he was narcotized for and if he would reanimate himself again, he spun around and webbed Tony in the chest, forcing the man’s body to throw itself onto the ground, immobile. The fog of sex was clearing the boy’s head, his teenage hormones calmed down and his cock that was once so hard it hurt was softening against his thigh.

 

“I’m sorry, you need to calm down,” he said shyly. “We can just sit here if you like. I’ll wait.”

 

True to Peter’s concern, the man’s length only started to rise up again from its slumped state on his hairy belly. He strained against the web, his abdomen and hips contorting desperately for some kind of contact.

 

“NO!” Tony groaned desperately, “No! I need it - touch me, Peter. So good, you were so tight – mmph – “

 

Peter dropped his hand after shooting a web at Tony’s mouth, silencing him. He rubbed his face, it was tacky from tears and he could see the dirt from the ground on his cheek smear onto his palm and fingers. He pulled out his phone, scrolled through his music selection, and played Hips Don’t Lie as he sat himself opposite Tony’s inhibited body; the music helped conceal Tony’s desperate muffled pleas.

 

“I hope you like Shakira,” Peter said, offering a useless smile but not meeting the man’s pained gaze.

 

 

* * *

 

 

There was never a spell of eerie silence in the heart of the city, the spider-web network of roads unapologetically lively with endless vehicles and its purr of noise swelled up to the very tops of the buildings. He’d grown used to the company of all the sound, it gave him a comforting sense of civilization and life.

 

Peter sat on the edge of the roof and watched the purple, starless sky, merely enjoying the cool breeze on his sore back and dampened skin. His legs dangled boyishly and he heaved a sigh that blew away in another gust of wind, he let the feeling of peace take him with it.

 

_Yeah, I wanna dance with somebody…_

The music rose.

 

_With somebody who loves me._

Peter sadly looked over his shoulder, his eyes travelled up the slumped legs and the gently rising tummy and chest, up the stubbled neck and the neat shape of a man’s chiseled jaw, they travelled till they stopped to meet the dark eyes watching him in return.

 

There was anger in those eyes; raw, unmoving rage.

 

“Mr. Stark?”

 

Tony’s nostrils flared and his brows drew tightly together at Peter’s hesitant voice. He lurched his head to the side as if to shake away the web glued to his lower face before turning back to Peter to give an even more somber expression. Peter clambered to his feet and picked up his phone, muting the music, before making his way to Tony’s body on the floor and squatting low to hold the light above his head.

 

His pupils had receded, in fact they shrunk in natural response to the light.

 

“Oh crap, okay, give me a second Mr. Stark. Oh crap, oh man,” Peter backed away and disorderly searched the roof: rubble from their collision, the suit, vents billowing out steam. He tried to think quickly on his feet, the new solution in his web shooters were designed by Tony, the structure was stronger than Peter’s pure strength alone but could be cut with a fine indestructible metal or if it dissolved in two hours or so, but it had only been about an hour and a bit since he’d shot out his webs, and it was made increasingly apparent by Tony’s murderous stare that Peter didn’t have another forty minutes to wait.

 

 _The suit._ He webbed the hollowed gauntlet of the iron suit to his out stretched hand, the whole suit followed and it clanged about noisily as it scraped over the roof’s asphalt surface; once in his hand, he aimed the open palm to the left of Tony’s side, at the web adhered to the floor on his chest. Perhaps the blast of the repulsors would break down the material? Peter squeezed his eyes shut for a second, licked his chapped lips, held a breath and… shook it.

 

Nothing happened, the weapon lay limp at the wrist. Peter smacked it with a fist and then looked to Tony’s face for help. The man rolled his eyes in disbelief.

 

Tony’s right hand pointed at the suits helmet on the ground, then gestured in a beckoning motion with his fingers. They curled upwards towards himself.

 

Peter nodded and slipped the helmet over the man’s lifted head; the metal face panel didn’t quite settle back neatly onto his face, the kink in the middle warped the highlights, and its opened edge exposed the side of his beard and jaw, there was a faint light reflecting off Tony’s skin. Without a word said, the gauntlet in Peter’s hand propelled forward, neatly sliding up Tony’s hand. The forearm of the armor suddenly shifted and a blade that ran along the length of the gauntlet silently sliced through. He skillfully did the same with the web on his mouth and suddenly Peter remembered everything that happened an hour ago. Every damn thing.

 

The man pulled himself up only to slump forward and hang his head between his bare thighs; his pants weren’t properly pulled back up despite Peter’s best efforts. All that noise from the traffic snuffed out in a split moment, all Peter could hear was the ringing in his head and the stiff, silent breathing of Tony trying to control his rage.

 

“Why didn’t you stop it?”

 

“I, I don’t know – I – “

 

“Your vitals showed nothing. But you – “

 

“Mr. Stark – ”

 

“Why did you let me… Let me...” _Rape you_ , he didn’t say.

 

“You didn’t!” Peter’s heart ached in his chest. “I didn’t want to hurt you and I didn’t want you to hurt. I just… froze.”

 

“Bullshit!” Tony snarled, his armored fist faintly groaned as he squeezed it shut.

 

“Mr. Stark, sometimes you’re all I ever think about! When – ” he couldn’t move, he could barely breathe, his eyes were swimming, “ – when it happened I just couldn’t do anything to stop it, I stopped thinking and – I – “ Everything was crashing; there was the alarm of a distant stolen car, there was the swift icy wind howling past his ear, the music from the bars, there was so much at once and the great Spiderman couldn’t even take a step back – “I’m so sorry, Mr. Stark. I really like you. I like you so much. I liked every second of what you did and I shouldn’t have but… I’m just so grateful for all you’ve ever done for me.”

 

“Peter…” Tony’s face twisted in suffering. “You’re sixteen… You’re…”

 

“Do you think I don’t know that?” Peter was holding back the tears so eager to get out. “Of course I know that and it kills me. I don’t feel normal anymore!”

 

Tony’s suit by Peter’s feet rose and quickly embraced Tony’s now standing form, the masks electronically-synthetized voice spoke and it chilled Peter to the core.

 

“Wake up kid, no one that does what we do is fucking normal!”  

 

Ironman tore away from the asphalt in a flash, leaving Peter alone again, like he had after the cruise attack, like he had in the hospital room, and this time he cried.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The truth was, the loneliness was suffocating. After every thing, every death and fight for their rights to exist or for what was right, it all blew up in Tony’s face. He had everything just fucking wipe their shit all over his face and all he could do for the past several months was get higher, drunker and even more miserable.

 

Steve was gone with half of the original Avengers. Bruce came and went whenever, Rhodey was out doing his job, and Pepper was doing her own thing now. This loneliness fed a new breed of fear in him, the fear of connecting on a genuine level. The simplest remedy had been distractions smothered over other distractions – booze led to coke which led to girls in clubs which led to gambling his fortune into a hole to look like he could, because he could. Clubs like the one tonight were made for people like Tony when you give a man with too much self-hatred too much power.

 

Even his promise to Peter was originally a procrastination attempt – but the boy was driving him to madness faster than he could anticipate. Peter was far too many things at once, it pumped up the fog settling over the sections in Tony’s brain that made the good and intelligent decisions; Peter Parker was pretty, bright, self-less, with a twinkle in his big brown eyes, and with the most lovely scrunch on his slightly freckled nose when he smiled, he had the body of a fresh into the industry underwear model – he shouldn’t and couldn’t have him, even if…

 

_Oh my god! Don’t stop, please, don’t stop, Mr. Stark!_

 

Tony groaned out loud as he descended into the landing tunnel in the Avengers compound, too tired and defeated to stop the memories stamping long-lasting images into his brain. He landed upright this time, and smoothly separated away from his suit before collapsing into the closest chair he could.

Peter was only a boy in high school, he bitterly reminded himself. A boy in high school who knew what a punch from Captain America felt like to the face, or what kind of death-fearing thoughts would rush through the mind as his small body is wedged under the crushing weight of rubble and metal from the result of the conflict. A year of being exposed to a world of crime, violence, death and war would emotionally age anyone. What would Tony have been like in high school if the night before he was punching murderers unconscious? How would you explain the swollen purple masses forming over his eyes, cheeks, or lips on a weekly basis? Peter probably felt like Tony was the only man in the world that would understand.

 

_I don’t feel normal anymore!_

And just how incredible had it felt to push himself into the inviting heat of Peter, not one sense of that memory had dulled. He remembered the searing fire in his groin, building up and bleeding molten need and agony at once into his sweaty, fevered body. Like a tsunamis wave over coming a dam, every detail rushed in and flooded him at once: the outright _blaze_ of pleasure, and then the self-hatred, and then the unthinkable and unmistakable look on Peter’s face, how sexed up and roughed and aroused he was.

 

Tony felt his dick twitch with enthusiasm. He let it win this once.

 

He pulled out his phone, and scrolled down his contacts to Peter’s mobile number. He never once contacted him using his private phone; he had Happy to do that, until now. He rang it, no answer. Did Peter not pick up to unknown numbers? Was he ignoring him? He rang it again.

 

Instead, Tony changed tactics and pulled the phone away from his ear to type a message. He thought for a second as to what he was possibly going to say, he didn’t have an astute plan, per-se, he let his fingers fumble over the digital keyboard and string out any message he could:

 

Tony slid the phone away face down on the bench; he hoped maybe Peter was getting attention to his back, or was calming himself down from everything that happened tonight, but that didn’t seem right either. He felt unsettled and a suspicion that something was wrong. Peter hadn’t changed how he felt about him just like that had he?

 

_I really like you. I like you so much. I liked every second of what you did and I shouldn’t have but…_

“FRIDAY, pull up Spiderman’s GPS locator for me.”

 

The holographic globe bloomed from the ground, swelling to the size of a beach ball in front of him. The stylized symbol of Peter’s mask blinked its location on the pale green map: out in the middle of a farming strip in North Queens.

 

What?


End file.
